


As Hot as the Salsa

by nightlighttuesdays



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Blow Jobs, Charlie Ships It, First Dates, First Meetings, Fluff, Fluff and Crack, Fluff and Smut, Food, Human Castiel, M/M, Oral Sex, Sexual Content, but not like in a sex way, i guess, mild crack, salsa - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-27
Updated: 2014-11-27
Packaged: 2018-02-27 04:21:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2678942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nightlighttuesdays/pseuds/nightlighttuesdays
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If [Dean + salsa = tears] and [Cas + salsa = true love],<br/>and keeping in mind the principle that [if the cook's hotter than his salsa, you gotta tap that],<br/>then salsa will bring Dean and Cas together, no matter what</p>
            </blockquote>





	As Hot as the Salsa

He’s not sure what’s more unfortunate - the sign that says “Supercalifragilistixexpiali _salsa_ " or the bowl of weird ass green salsa plopped right below it. And don't even get him started on Sal's A+ Salsa - Dean's been giving that booth a wide berth, in part because Sal looks a little predatorial and Dean's not in the mood to have anything shoved down his throat at the moment.

He's not even sure why he let Charlie drag him to this fucking ridiculous thing; the conversation,  as he remembers it, went something like:

"Salsa festival Saturday. You and me. 2 hours, no more taste buds."

"Hell no. Hell fucking no. I'm not going, Charlie, you can't make me."

But it turns out Charlie _could_ make him, and on top of that, she's just gone and ditched him for the Mary Poppins ectoplasm salsa.

Traitor.

Dean decides he'll make it to the end of the row at the very least, because Charlie seems to be having fun, even though she's been drinking half a gallon of milk every ten minutes and Dean swore she started crying when she tried White Hot Firehouse.

Dean hasn't really...um. Dean hasn't tried anything yet. Every few tables, he'll snag a handful of tortilla chips, but no salsa. It's not that he doesn't like it - he does, but mild to medium is pretty strictly his threshold and he hasn't seen one single booth without a declaration of "Flamin' hot!!!!" or "You'll need tissues!" So, yeah. Dean'd rather suffer Charlie's teasing for not eating anything than for bawling his eyes out.

Second to last stall. He's almost there - the light at the end of the tunnel is starting to look promising, and maybe he'll be able to get out of here in time to salvage his Saturday with a pitstop at Jess and Sam’s and a few rounds at the Roadhouse.

"Would you like to try some?"

Dean pulls his hand away from the chip bowl guiltily. "Oh - uh, no, thanks, I'm good."

He looks up and _damn_ , the guy is probably as hot as his salsa.

"You were just going to steal my chips?" Salsa man says, arching an eyebrow.

His blue eyes are smiling, though, and Dean allows himself a grin. "You caught me. I'm the chip thief your mama warned you about." Salsa man laughs, a gravelly sound that has Dean leaning over the table conspiratorially. "Otherwise known as Dean."

"Nice to meet you, Dean. I'm Castiel," Salsa man says, and then, "Why no salsa?"

Dean shrugs. "Don't feel like getting carted out for ghost pepper-induced cardiac arrest, I guess."

Castiel laughs again. "I'm sure you'd find someone around here to give you CPR if worst comes to worst." His eyes probe Dean's for a long moment before he looks down at the table, a faint blush and smile hinted at on his face and Dean realises that was flirting, _flirting_ , and he's suddenly extremely interested in Castiel's salsa.

"What's in it?" He asks, gesturing at the bowl.

Castiel looks really friggin excited and not for the first time does Dean wonder why the people here take their salsas so seriously; but something about Castiel's smile when he's looking at the salsa gives Dean the impression of a proud dad and hell, he can get behind whatever it is that causes a smile like that.

"It's a tomato-onion base with shredded pineapple and sweet corn, and then some jalapeño seeds and chiles. I also added some honey, which turned out unexpectedly well."

Dean nods, liking the way Cas' eyes don't leave his as he speaks. It's different. Refreshingly disconcerting. Also, there are no ingredients that sound terribly deadly, so maybe. Maybe.

"So...on a scale of yogurt to 'get a fire extinguisher for my mouth,' where'd you rate it?"

Castiel frowns thoughtfully, scooping a chip through the salsa as he considers it. "Somewhere between nacho Doritos and spiced apple cider." He eats it after he's finished talking and Dean watches his tongue chase a crumb around the outside of his lips with significant interest.

"Uh..." Dean clears his throat, tearing his eyes away from Castiel's mouth. "You think I should go for it?"

Castiel narrows his eyes and tilts his head to the side, studying Dean. "I think you can handle it," he says after a few moments of intense staring.

Dean nods a few times, trying to build up his strength. "Yeah. Yeah, I can totally handle it." He shifts his weight from foot to foot, practically bouncing.

Just as the chip in his hand is about to break the surface of the salsa, he pauses. "I'm not gonna cry, am I?" He looks up at Castiel's' frown. "Don't wanna look like a pansy in front of the whole town."

"You should be less concerned with how you look," Castiel says. "Some would find the tears of an attractive man endearing."

Dean blinks a few times. The major takeaway from that sentence was - holy shit, Castiel thinks he’s attractive. "Oh - okay, great. Yeah. Thanks. You too, Cas. Tiel. Castiel." Once upon a time, he thinks wryly, once upon a time, he was smooth.

Castiel looks like he's fighting a laugh, but his voice comes out just as deep and controlled as before. "Cas is fine."

"Right. Well, Cas," Dean points the chip at him, "If I die, I'm coming back and haunting your ass."

And with that, he dunks his chip into the salsa and shoves it into his mouth.

There's a long moment where Dean doesn't feel anything. It just tastes good - like, really fucking good, sweet jesus.

He smiles then, a conquering grin that only gets halfway across his face before the tickle starts up in the back of his throat - and before long, the tickle is an itch and the itch is a burn and the burn is a full-fucking-fledged fire in his mouth and

" _Oh my fuck_ ," he gasps, his vision blurring behind the welling tears. " _Milk_."

Castiel, the smug fuck, is just standing there with something akin to a smirk on his face as Dean goes down to his knees wheezing; but Dean takes the cup of milk when it comes a lifetime later.

Cas lied. The burn doesn't go away, no matter how much milk Dean drinks, and eventually Cas just pulls him behind the booth and sets him up in a folding chair so he's not flopping around like a drama queen in the walkway. Every so often Dean'll cough, or another tear will slip out of his watering eyes, and he'll swing his leg just so it accidentally hits Cas in the back of the knee and throws off his balance.  

The third time he does it, Cas turns and throws a cup of milk in Dean's face.

Neither of them says anything then; they just stare at each other until Cas' shoulders start shaking and then they're laughing so hard that Dean forgets about the burn in his throat.

"You're a piece of shit, you know," Dean says after they've calmed down, wiping the milk out of his eyes. "That salsa's hot as fuck."

Cas shrugs. "I must have overestimated your heat tolerance."

Dean glares at him until he turns around and introduces his salsa to another woman, who doesn't seem to have a problem with the spice level. She eats it, nods, and gives Castiel a full, professional review of his salsa, talking the whole while she should have been writhing on the ground crying. And after she's gone, Cas turns around and raises his eyebrow at Dean.

"Oh, shut up."

Cas just shakes his head. "Why did you come here if you don't like salsa?"

Dean shrugs, a hand going to the back of his neck. "My friend dragged me along. And I never said I don't like salsa, man. Come on, everybody likes salsa."

"Except 'hot as fuck' salsa, I guess."

"I'm not saying it tasted bad, dude. It was pretty good - you know, before I started crying."

Cas bites his lip. "I'm sorry. I must be too used to the heat to judge what it's like for average humans."

Dean sticks out his tongue childishly, but the smile hangs around anyway.

"And the milk. I'm sorry about that, too."

"Are you?"

"Not really, no."

Dean can't even force a glare onto his face and soon they're laughing again, Cas' shoulder a spark of contact that doesn't disappear.

“Dean,” Cas starts, at the same inopportune moment Charlie appears like a fuckin’ wild Magikarp and goddammit, he wishes she were oblivious enough to remain unaware of her cockblock but no, no, she’s shooting him these weird glances and staring at Cas in turn, and he’s not sure it’s any better when she eats some of the salsa.

“Hey, Charlie,” Dean says resignedly. “My salsa-crazed friend,” he adds, for Cas’ benefit.

“‘Sup? I was just wondering if you were ready to go, but if you’re not, that’s totally fine, I can eat more-” She’s backing away the entire time she’s talking, about to turn and run and probably hide behind a booth to watch Dean and Cas unfold.

Dean sighs, because no way is that happening. “Yeah, I’m good. Just hold up for a sec, okay?”

Charlie’s face falls. “Yeah, okay. I’ll be at the booth over there. The salsa’s bangin’. So is yours, by the way. Love it. Can’t feel my face.” She gives Cas a double thumbs up as she starts walking backwards, headed to a booth where a suspiciously attractive woman is ladling salsa into small sample cups.

Dean shakes his head. “Sorry ‘bout that.”

“She seems like a respectable salsa-fiend,” Cas says, a smile dancing at the corners of his lips.

Dean rolls his eyes. “Just wait til you get to know her. She’s like the annoying little sister I never wanted and - holy shit, she seriously just came to get that chick’s number.” He watches her pocket the paper and take more salsa, all with a shit-eating grin.

“She’s interested in women?”

Dean snorts. “More than I am, yeah.”

Cas frowns. “So you’re not…”

“Oh.” Dean’s face colors. “Um, both. Chicks and dicks, y’know?” He laughs awkwardly, throwing back a cup of milk to wet his suddenly dry tongue.

“I truly have never understood what the merits are of limiting romantic pursuit to one gender.”

Dean blinks. Castiel’s soft smile is still there. Weird. “Yeah. I mean, for a while, that was me, but not so much anymore.”

“Interesting,” Cas says, and his gaze makes Dean squirm.

“Yeah. Um. I guess I’m gonna head out, but…” Dean pauses for a long moment, stilled by Castiel’s gaze. “I’m gonna, uh,” he grabs a napkin and snags the pen Cas had been using to tally the amount of people who stopped by the booth. “I’m gonna give you my number and if you decide you want to make a salsa that the average human can handle, give me a call. Or, you know, if you just want to watch me cry over your salsa again, let me know and I’ll come running.”

Cas’ entire face creases into a smile. “Next time I’ll leave out the jalapeños.”

“You have no idea how much that means to me.”

“Although I did like seeing you on your knees.”

Dean’s eyes widen and he has to swallow a nervous laugh because Cas is still smiling, but his eyes are earnest and he fucking knows what he said and now Dean’s kind of wondering if the tablecloth is long enough for them to hide under the table and just have a go right here.

“Call me,” Dean says, taking a step towards where Charlie is still standing.

“I will.”

“I’m very open to new flavors,” Dean continues. “Whatever it is I’m eating, I always manage to swallow it down.”

The lady at the booth next to Cas’ looks truly scandalized.

“I will definitely keep that in mind,” Cas says, and he looks a little less put together now that it’s turned on him. “And I will call you.”

Dean grins at him one last time, winks, and turns.

Charlie was totally eavesdropping.

Dean may or may not have shouted the cock-sucking metaphor while he was standing twenty feet away from Cas.

He tells her to shut up.

She laughs hysterically anyway.

Sal looks creepier than before, but now Dean’s thinking about a different something being shoved down his throat by a different someone and that sort of minimizes Sal’s problematic existence.

  
**.........................**   
  


Castiel calls Dean three days later. They eat at Dean’s favorite diner - the kind of place that hasn’t even heard of spices - and Cas concedes that they’ve got the best apple pie he’s ever tasted, and then Dean drives Cas home and walks him to the door and then the door becomes thoroughly inconsequential, until Dean finds himself pressed up against it from the inside.

“You’re pretty fucking hot,” he says as soon as he can manage his breath from the lip-bruising kiss they’re in the middle of. “Totally worth the salsa.”

Cas smiles against Dean’s throat. “I’m glad.”

By the time they fall into Cas’ bed, there isn’t a stitch of clothing on skin and Cas’ hair is looking like somebody took a leaf blower to it. Dean fucking loves it.

He makes his way down Cas’ body, leaving a path of ravished skin in his wake that has Cas moaning into the air, his fingers clutching at Dean’s head.

Before Dean takes Cas in his mouth, he teases a little, pressing soft kisses on the inside of Cas’ thighs and slipping a hand under Cas to knead at his ass. He doesn’t delay the inevitable for long, though, and the sound that escapes Cas when Dean sucks him down is stunning.

Cas doesn’t last very long and Dean doesn’t blame him, because he’s already very nearly to the edge from unconsciously humping the bed. 

Dean didn’t lie; he swallows everything.

Cas pulls him back up afterwards and kisses him deeply, languidly, and it’s all tongue, everywhere, and the loose strokes that Cas gives Dean have him gone in no time.

They share a post-orgasm laugh before Cas twines himself around Dean and the soft breath against his neck and the hand flattened against his stomach lulls Dean into a bottomless sleep in what feels like seconds.

**..**

Dean hasn’t done this sort of thing in a while; but when he did, he never stuck around in the morning. This time, he does.

He’s glad he does.

Cas’ pancakes may be from a boxed mix, but his kisses are sweet and his smile is gorgeous and over the years, Dean ends up eating a hell of a lot of hot as fuck salsa. 

 

 


End file.
